Crushing
by Zuckermund
Summary: Chase is hired. House makes the most of it. HousexChase, pre-series, slash. Rated M for a reason.


_Warnings: Sexual content, m/m. Not beta-read.  
_

* * *

_Set before S1. Dr. Robert Chase is seemingly the epitome of a wealthy off-spring when he applies for a fellowship at PPTH diagnostics. House has his very own reasons to hire the young doctor despite his renowned father's phone call - and Chase has his own reasons to indulge the crankiness of his new boss. _

* * *

**Crushing**

„You're fun."

Chase shifts uneasily in his chair. He's on the interview for barely five minutes, and the verdict is already spoken. He's heard of House, his ingenious and recklessness manner, and that's mainly the reason why he applied for the job. Apart from the fact that New Jersey offers a conveniently far distance to Melbourne.

He's not exactly prepared for downright nastiness, but it doesn't surprise him, either. Adjusting, he decides to play along.

"If you say so, Dr. House."

"Offspring of the renowned Dr. Rowan Chase, what's not to love?" House offhandedly tosses his CV on the table. "Actually, I'm hitting on your accent. British hookers get me off."

"I'm neither", Chase retorts stoically. He nods towards the file. "Is there anything else you find funny in my résumé?"

"Six months of seminary." Dr. House makes it sound like a rather caustic remark. "Figures. You look like an altar boy. Why did you quit?"

"I didn't. I was dispelled."

Finally, a spark of interest. "Some lecherous vicar couldn't stay away from your tush?"

"Do I get the job if I confirm?"

A smirk is just about to reach House's lips. "You're fun. - He's fun, isn't he, Wilson?"

The young doctor, seated next to House behind the desk, clearly can't be bothered to play the game. "Cuddy asked you to make this an interview, not some sort of humiliation competition. He's Rowan's son alright, but you could try and treat him like any other applicant."

"Aw, come on. You know me." He grimaces in an almost childish way. "Indulging everybody's individual needs."

"Dr. Chase here is a trained intensivist. You've never had one on your team before."

"Yeah." House rolls his eyes. "It's not like I can be fussy right now, with Cuddy and Chase the elder breathing down my neck."

Dr. Wilson casually picks up the file again and turns to Chase, pointedly ignoring the snark. "You've studied at Sydney University under Dr. Leibovitz. Good man."

"Who is also known for nepotism and has a reputation for pretty boy love", House throws in. "At least that's what I heard at last year's conference in Bangkok."

Wilson smiles apologetically at Chase. "If you really want the job, you better learn to adjust to Dr. House's charming crudity."

Well, it's not like his life has been a bed of roses before. Verbal abuse, he can handle. Right now, there is something else that piques his interest. "Dr. Cuddy didn't mention working in a team."

"That's because you are going to be my team", House says flippantly.

"He scared them away", Wilson explains with a sigh. "The last two of them resigned last month. This isn't just a regular job, Dr. Chase. You'll have to work hard. You'll most likely be pulling double shifts. And he'll spur you if you're not a fast worker."

"Now you're the one who scares him", House sneers. "Why would you do that? Want him all for yourself, Jimmy? How selfish of you. Better get adorable little wombat here out of your head. He's mine."

"So I suppose I should congratulate you", Wilson says dryly. "Welcome to PPTH diagnostics, Dr. Chase."

Chase watches him leaving the office, stunned by the absurdity of it all. He warily turns to House, who seems to have forgotten his presence completely by the time Wilson got out of the chair.

"Is that all?"

"Why are you still here and wasting my time? Don't make me regret my decision so soon, pretty boy."

"I just…"

"You were just hired. I like my coffee strong and sweet, no cream. Let's spare the intimate details come Monday. And get yourself a beard if your body is producing enough testosterone to grow facial hair. I don't want the gossiping nurses to think of me as a pedophile."

"Thanks", he says sheepishly, and then: "I'm twenty-four."

House glances at the file, checking the front page. "Obviously. Résumés don't lie."

He puts on a pair of glasses in order to read it, and Chase suddenly feels a strange sensation deep down in his stomach. House looks very attractive when he's wearing glasses.

That's indeed some weird observation for a job interview.

Tentatively, Chase reaches for his bag that is placed on the floor between his feet, and he can feel House's eyes scanning him when he does so. His whole body is fluttering now, but he really doesn't know why. He's usually not prone to nervousness.

"See you next week."

"You're accommodated on campus?" House asks when he's almost out of the door. Icy, clear blue eyes lock with his, holding his gaze until he blushes. It hasn't happen to him in years.

"For the time being, yes."

"Daddy's gonna get you a condo?"

"Possibly."

He smirks at him, and this time, it doesn't seem so daunting. "Good boy."

Chase swallows hard when he gets into the elevator, trying desperately to ignore the physical arousal he's unexpectedly finding himself into. It's not like he has a hard-on or something, but there definitely is tension, and it's all but about the job. But then what the hell is it? He grabs his bag faster and heads back onto campus, confused and befuddled by the effect that the interview (or was it House?) had on him.

* * *

He has a single apartment. It comes in handy for privacy. He takes a long shower, and then, naked and still dripping wet, flops onto the bed. The room is scarce and white, with a framed picture of Van Gogh's Starry Night being the only display of color.

He can't seem to stop thinking about House. His hand, almost with a will of its own, trails down to his belly, and then further south until he gently strokes the sensitive skin of his balls before going the way down his shaft. He stares at the ceiling – it's whitened wooden panels, with a touch of yellow stains from generations of former student's nicotine smokes -, and he goes a little steadier, gingerly rubbing the frenulum with two fingers. He's good at masturbating quietly and without hurry – six months of seminary and sharing apartments at med school have taught him a thing or two -, and he usually thrives in it without the urgent need to jerk off too soon. He can go on like this for a while. Chase closes his eyes and relishes the hardness of his throbbing cock. He smiles at the immediate response, touching himself more fervently.

What would he look like under that crumpled shirt? He has strong, long limbs like a professional runner, and even though he didn't get up once, Chase believes that he is well over six feet. He's probably just as tall as his father. He looks fitter, even though he uses a cane. His skin is slightly tanned, emphasizing the blueness of those piercing, distracting eyes. Chase distinctively remembers his hands, and his body jerks in response when he does so. Long, refined, yet strong fingers like those of a musician's.

His breath is hitching as he fantasizes about his hands, and he works fast now, his erection hard as a rock. He can't believe what he is doing here, can't understand why the mere thought of him gives him so much physical pleasure. Authority of any kind gives him some sort of excitement, especially the paternal kind of authority; he's aware of that since he's been to the seminary, but it had never been like _that_. He's never had fantasies about a tutor or a teacher, let alone had he been sexually stimulated by the sheer imagination of a man's body.

Chase wonders if he has an active sex life, crippled being the least significant factor; he wonders if any woman would keep up with his jerkiness.

Would he be rough, like his demeanor is suggesting?

Would he be into kink? He might very well be.

Would he fuck this Dr. Wilson, that handsome boy oncologist to whom he had, mockingly but affectionately, referred to as Jimmy?

Why does he think of him like that? It's indecent to fantasize about your superior while masturbating, but he just can't help it.

His mind begins to wander as he pictures his future boss in the sheets right here at his dorm, sweaty and stripped off his clothes, limbs intertwined, and he hears his voice, raucous and coarse.

_Good boy. _

He starts to pant when the pressure is rapidly building up. His whole body begs for release as he arches his back, muscles tensing and contracting, and he can feel the impending orgasm coming down on him. It's intense and messy, and he stifles a groan as he comes undone. Exhausted, he collapses onto the bed, still reeling from the powerful and startling reaction of his body.

This could be fun, he thinks.

Or it could turn out to be the worst move he has ever made. Infatuation probably isn't the ideal basis for a professional relationship.

Either way, he's determined to find out.

* * *

"Why did you hire him?"

"Because you, Cuddy and almighty Dad urged me to."

"Apart from the fact that you don't give a crap what anyone tells you to do, sure."

"I like how he smells."

Wilson flips through Chase's CV. "There ought to be more than that."

"Let's say I fancied his tie. Matches gorgeously with his hair."

"He does have nice hair", Wilson admits. "He's pretty. Is that how you're going to select your team? On pure physical appearance?"

"There's not much in there to impress me", House retorts, pointing towards the file. "If Cuddy gets me a double D cup candidate, I might reconsider my principles on woman doctors."

"He's not known to be a team worker. Liebermann's report indicates he has a hard time to function within a group of co-workers. 'Efficient when challenged'", Wilson quotes. "Sounds like a prodigy."

"He gets more promising by the hour."

"His professors have been far less enthusiastic, judging by the reports he's received. You've had more prospective doctors on your staff."

"But he is oh so pretty."

"He has issues", Wilson insists. "Did you notice the flinch when the name of his father came up?"

"Making him all the more interesting."

"It's not your job to dissect your employees. You're also not supposed to go out on a date with them. Your principles suck, House. You're turning this into a beauty contest. He won't work any harder just because you're attracted to his choice of ties."

"Damn. You think he's a slacker? If only you told me before I hired him. Oh no wait, you asked me to hire him. Practically, you begged me to."

"That was before I got to read his CV. He's obviously the upper class product of a wealthy environment. His grades are average, at best. I wouldn't be surprised if his father pulled some strings to push him through med school. It's fairly common in the world of the rich and famous."

"Which you are undeniably an expert of."

"Did you ever look at his résumé at all?"

House winks at him mischievously. "Still pretty."

"You'll fire him by the end of the week."

"Wanna take a bet on it?"

"I'm going to spare you the humiliation."

He gathers his things together, ready to leave for the night, when House's voice brings him to halt at the door.

"You think he slept his way through med school?"

"That's not what I was saying."

"Maybe I should make a phone call to Sydney."

"What for?"

House shrugs. "For starters, I could ask Liebermann if he's an experienced bottom. - Rowan's boy, not Liebermann", he adds ingenuously, as if there is any clarification needed.

"Suit yourself. You might as well ask him if he's into bondage. All the fun you could have." He shakes his head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're having this discussion."

"You started it!" he shouts after him, in that righteous, annoying tone of voice that Wilson thinks is not worth to keep the conversation going. If he's right about Robert Chase, House will have crushed him by the end of the month.

Wilson can't help but to already feel sorry for the boy.

* * *

His first week seems to blur into a nightmare of rectal examinations that House makes him do in the clinic. If he's not busy wiping crotches for STDs or checking middle-aged patient's prostates, House orders him to do a full body work-up of his current case, including a sigmoidoscopy that doesn't seem necessary.

"It's not a very pleasant procedure. Especially when the problem is obviously in his kidneys."

"Just go easy on him. Shove the tube up gently inch by inch. Some sweet talk won't hurt if you're the romantic type. And don't be stingy on lube. Lubrication will do the trick. Who am I talking to?"

His face flushes, not for the first time this week. "It's painful and unnecessary."

"It usually is. Make a difference, kiddo."

"Why am I supposed to do this?"

"Because you, my dear sir, will do whatever you're told."

"I'm not an undergraduate", Chase attempts to snarl back. "I have a degree in medicine just as good as any doctor's in this hospital."

"Oh, clever, are we?"

"I'm not going to put the patient through a medical procedure that will result in soreness of the intestines when it's uncalled for."

"Come on. It's hardly painful, and if you're lucky, he'll be thinking fondly of you for hours after you pulled out your instrument."

It's no use to disagree with him because it will lead to nothing. Only two days on the job have taught him already. House has the uncanny ability to turn every medical dispute into some sort of verbal porn, and even though Chase finds it a little off, he also feels turned on by it – which is really a bit upsetting.

He prefers to stay at the office during lunch break instead of going down to the cafeteria. House watches through glass walls as Chase settles down at the adjacent conference room's table, carefully preparing his meal which usually contains fresh fruit and Caprese sandwiches. He eats noticeably healthy, and he takes his time. There's no haste in the way he moves; everything he does, he does in a deliberate, calm manner. He hasn't been any different when Cuddy re-scheduled him for the ER yesterday; curious, House had been sneaking down to watch how he would cope in the face of sheer madness. Not surprisingly, Chase jr. is cool as a cucumber. He's operating remarkably well under pressure, and pressure is what House will provide gladly.

Wilson swifts through the door, apparently willing to share lunch with him. "How's the two of you getting along?"

"Great."

"Not much of a talker, is he?"

"I like it."

Wilson hands him a Reuben's and unwraps a tuna sandwich for himself. "I met his father in Vancouver a couple of years ago. Nice man. Very considerate."

"Sounds like a pompous windbag to me."

"I wouldn't phrase it quite like that." Wilson glances at the oblivious young Australian next door, who now takes up a patient's file and a pen while lunching. There's something hilariously old-fashioned about the way he scribbles down notes on a blank pad.

"I liked Rowan", Wilson muses, chewing thoughtfully on his sandwich. "He's one of the people who will enter a room and instantly grab your attention, whether you like it or not."

"Talk about sex appeal." House snorts in contempt. "Some guys are just plain lucky."

"I'm sure you couldn't stand him."

"Oh, you know me too well."

"So, what's new?" Wilson asks, gesturing towards Chase the younger. "Any family skeletons yanked out of the closet yet?"

"He's not a big talker."

"What I said."

Pensively, House checks out Chase's bottom when he shuffles to the kitchen unit and pours himself another cup of coffee. He doesn't wear a lab coat during his break. His wardrobe is hideous. Today, he's wearing a pinkish shirt with red stripes on it, and a tie that suggests more than a bad case of early morning blindness. He hasn't shaved in days, sporting some fuzz that makes him look like a grunge kid rockstar wanna-be, and there's the distinctive trace of shadows underneath his eyes. His jeans, though, are perfect. They snuggle tightly around his well-shaped butt, tempting him into some sort of fantasies that House finds almost irritating for a second. Cuddy's low-cut tops can't compete with that perfectly round ass of his new employee.

Wilson disrupts his intriguing observations. "He's fresh from med school. You can't expect him to do all the work by himself when you should have three doctors on your staff."

"And yet he does. He's a people pleaser."

"He didn't please his professors."

"Because they weren't compelling enough like his old man is."

Wilson ponders on this for a minute. "So you're saying he became a doctor because he wanted to please his father."

"Right now, he's doing all he can to please me. Excellent choice, Wilson."

"You're gonna push him until he breaks. You always do."

He wonders if Chase is indeed indestructible, or if he can disclose the vulnerable spot that will eventually crack his personal shield.

There has to be one.

Everybody has weaknesses.

It's what House is interested in. Flaws make people fascinating, and, more significant for him as a boss, he can work with it.

"I don't intend to destroy him", House says, watching Chase attentively. "It's against the principles."

"And you're all about principles."

"What can I say? I'm a people pleaser too."

Wilson sighs. "Hire a team. If your principles won't kill him, the pressure will."

"He'll be fine."

"Right. Nurturing is so you."

"I don't like you when you're being snippy."

"Just trying to prove a point."

"Can you prove it somewhere else and not in my office?"

"Cuddy asked you to sign up a team, not a slave. Look at him. He can't even walk straight."

"I didn't make him to pull double shifts."

"He's dead beat. Be nice for a change and ask him to take the rest of the day off. It's Friday. There's not much to do, anyway. Unless, of course, you're jerking him around and let him take over your clinic hours."

"Kid patients adore him. Staff, too. I think one of the male nurses slipped him his phone number."

"He's not gay, is he?"

"Haven't figured it out yet."

"That's strange. For a man of your standards, I mean."

For a boy that pretty, Robert Chase carries a lot of oddities for him to discover.

* * *

He's leaving late.

There is nothing to come home to, and he likes the quietness in the office that goes along with the twilight of the evening hours when the largest part of the staff is already gone.

House is a night owl; he seems to be at his most alerts come the night. He'd throw a ball against the walls, he'd limp around in the space of his office like some crow with its wings clipped (Chase thinks the picture is oddly fitting, but it's only when he doesn't use his cane. His gait is surprisingly dynamic, and he's fast. Sometimes, when he'd follow him through the corridors, it's hard to keep pace with him).

When Chase glances at the office, he can see his boss stretched out on the recliner, which makes him think that maybe House would even crash for the night here. Maybe this office is more of a home to him than anything else. Somehow, he can relate to that.

Or maybe he's sick, he thinks, as he pulls on his jacket. He's seen swallowing down pills many enough to be at least a little bit concerned. Cautiously, he peeks through the glass door, barely pushing it open. "G'night, Dr. House."

There is no response. Chase can feel the adrenaline rushing through his body as the sight of him triggers a flashback. He'd seen his mother like this, barely conscious and zoned out by too many Aperol shots.

For a moment, he instantly and automatically remembers the code of the emergency call. It seems to have been carved into his mind since adolescence.

"Are you alright?"

Again, a memory from childhood is seizing him. How many times did he come home and asked her the very same question?

He feels anxious now as he touches his arm and shakes it slightly, and then firmer. "Dr. House. Are you alright?"

"What." Blue eyes open and stare into his, and it's only when House puts out the ear plug that Chase realizes he's been listening to some music from an MP3-Player. He's alert and awake, and Chase inaudibly suppresses a sigh of relief.

"I thought you were…"

"…dozed off? Dead? Couldn't have helped me either way."

"I'm sorry", Chase says, somewhat baffled by the unjust harsh response. "I didn't mean to offend you because I obviously care."

"Well don't. I don't need some minion to watch over me."

"I wasn't being condescending." His voice sounds indignant, choked almost, and he hates it. He sounds like he did when he was trying to talk sense into his mother, ginned-up and babbling nonsense. "And I think you're high from the Vicodin."

"Oh do tell. You're keeping score on my prescriptions?"

"Look, I know this is none of my business, but you've had a butt load of pills today, and I was concerned. I made a mistake, and I apologized to you. There's no reason for lashing out. It will not happen again."

"You know your way around with this, do you?" House keeps his gaze until Chase has to avert his eyes. There is a fervent inquisitiveness in the piercing blue eyes that almost terrifies him.

What did he do? Why would he come up with this now?

"I just…"

"Don't 'just' me. You've been watching me popping pills for days now and haven't said a word. You didn't even ask questions. Most people I work with would want to know if I'm sane enough to at least have a prescription. You never did. It tells me that either you just don't care, or you know well enough how to deal with possible substance abuse. Judging by tonight's experience, I think we can exclude the first option."

This is awkward. "I'm leaving. Good night, House."

"Hold on a sec", House says when he heads for the door. "Have you ever done a blow job?"

It hits him left field. Chase feels his face blush. What the hell?

"Why would you-…"

"You and I should have sex together."

He feels the desperate urge to laugh, but a snorting noise is all that comes out.

"Keeps me distracted", explains House, dead-pan. His right hand is rubbing his thigh. "As a rule, I make an appointment, but since you're still here…"

"I gotta go."

"To what? You're just as lonely and miserable like everybody else."

"You're wrong."

"Then why are you here?"

He really doesn't want to hear the answer. Chase musters the boldness to glare at him before he leaves through the door for good, hoping and praying that House will have the decency to not comment on the sudden tightness of his jeans. In any case, he must have noticed, because the last thing he catches from him is a devious, disturbingly confident smirk.

* * *

It takes only a week under House's thumb until he folds.

He's been having dreams about the unthinkable (yet it doesn't stop him to think about it all the time).

He's been fantasizing about his boss under the shower (and in the middle of the night when desire and confusion is keeping him awake).

He'd swear he wouldn't succumb, swear that this is not possibly going to happen, ever.

He'd keep up with this no matter what; he would make it work because he is, for the first time in his life, feeling safe. He clings to this job; or rather, he clings to this man who gives him nothing but frustration. Even though he resents it, it is at least _something_. He'd swear he can deal with this. Humiliation is better than indifference.

And yet, by the end of the week, he's standing in front of him in the narrow office where the glass walls are closing around him, and House is observing him like a predator would watch his bait.

"I assume there is a reason why you're working late. _Again_."

"I'm quitting."

"You don't mean that." House sneers. "You never mean anything that comes out of that pretty mouth of yours."

If he had been offensive, things would be easier. But this… it's almost, almost flattering. "So you got me all figured out then."

"I'm fairly good at that, kiddo."

Chase suddenly wishes he would stop calling him like that. It's condescending.

There's an air of arrogance in his words and demeanor that reminds him too much of his father. God, how desperately he used to love him, tried to make him love him back. How he used to seek for his approval. Now, there is nothing but numbness and cold silence between him and Rowan Chase. He hates him, and he loves him, and it's ripping him apart piece by piece until he'll bleed out.

He doesn't want this again.

"I won't stay."

"You're not going anywhere. You're much too pathetic to act upon your convictions. Which is interesting because you obviously made the grade when you wanted to work for me."

"I only got the job because my father made a phone call so you would hire me even if you didn't want it in the first place. I wasn't top of my class. I know that this job requires a lot more than what's in my reviews. You wouldn't have touched me with a forty feet long pole if it wasn't for my father."

"Wrong, and wrong. _You_ wanted this, and your dad called me to reject you."

This comes somewhat unexpected. "You said that my father asked Dr. Cuddy to-…"

"I lied", House says flippantly. "He specifically asked her to _not_ hire you. Oh no wait, he asked her to offer you a slot at surgery under Dr. Idiot Thompson so his precious little prince wouldn't fall prey to some ill-reputed diagnostician. Do you think he's biased? I've never met the old man. Weird, isn't it?"

"Then why did you hire me?"

"Same reason you wanted to work for me."

"You just said you don't even know my father."

"Do I have to know him to set him off?"

He doesn't know what to make of it. "You could have told me."

"And miss out all the fun? Like hell I would."

Chase thinks he's supposed to be angry. He should be annoyed, at least. But all he can do is shaking his head in astonishment.

House was doing him a favor by hiring him despite the phone call, not because of it.

It's a relief, and at the same time, he feels a sense of respect and gratitude.

There also is a conspicuous touch of evil in House's clarification.

He's surprised that he finds it actually attractive.

"I'm still sticking to my judgment", House says when he collects his belongings and stuffs it into his carrier bag.

"Yeah? Which one?"

The cane twirls between his fingers. "That you are eager to have sex with me."

Chase tries to avoid his gaze. It's not an easy task. "I'm not gay."

"You could opt to be. As long as it serves your purpose."

"You think that's how I got through med school?"

"It's possible." He sits and observes, as he always does. That false contemplating look in his eyes is infuriating. "Nah. I don't think you'd do it for just anyone."

Chase reaches for his jacket, fervently hoping that House won't comment on the sudden reddening of his cheeks. "You're not gay, either."

"How would you know?"

He shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"Do I hear a hint of disappointment, or is it just that whiny accent of yours?"

Sometimes he really hates his confidence. Moreover, he hates how easily he can see through people, and how ruthlessly he is ready to use it. If House knew how many times he'd been jerking off under the shower while thinking of his hands and envisioning his blue eyes above him, he'd be dead.

"I'm not going to discuss this any further."

"Maybe we should."

Chase stops and spins around.

House is still twirling his cane, but as soon as their eyes meet, he keeps it steady and upwards. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not-…"

"Yeah, right. You're the adventurous type, aren't you?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Saw you leaving with a busty lady the other night. What's she into? Bondage? Golden showers? Strap-on sex? Spanking? She sure looked kinky to me."

Chase is grateful for the dim light in the room. His face is burning with embarrassment.

She had been a banker from downtown; he met her at the counter and asked her out (or rather, she invited him to a party), and indeed she did have strange proclivities (which were revealed as soon as he arrived on the scene, so to speak. He'd never thought he could wind up in a dungeon, jammed with people who were clad in leather and latex). The night concluded in a horribly gone wrong one night stand and the disgusting smell of cigarettes and burnt flesh.

He still squirms inwardly when he thinks of it.

"Hit a nerve?" House starts twirling the cane again, and a perceptive smile twitches across his face. He looks like a cat whose paws are prodding and poking a caught mouse, ready to pull out its claws at will.

"Why are you doing this?"

"It's fun. You're fun."

"So you're choosing your staff for entertainment values. Glad to be of some service."

"Oh, snap."

He really ought to leave. He wants to turn around and slam the door shut; he wants to go back to his dorm and wants to curl into a ball underneath the blanket and cry himself to sleep.

Most of all, he wants to punch House in the face, and yet he's stuck as if his soles are glued to the floor. It shocks him how this man so carelessly stirs up something that he hasn't experienced since God knows when.

Moments pass until House finally speaks again. "Are you being emotionally overwhelmed? Because frankly, I thought you'd never be."

"At least you're having fun."

There is uncomfortable silence between them and Chase counts the seconds until either of them makes a move.

Finally, House sweeps his chair around and turns on the TV, thus dismissing him for tonight.

Chase feels like a scolded school boy who is sent to face the corner of the class room.

And like any schoolboy, he knows he'll be back in class the next morning.

* * *

He's tired of House's games because he constantly changes the rules; there is no way of knowing, no way to predict what will happen next.

House seems to simply _know_. Chase wouldn't be surprised if he can _smell_ it on him when he enters the office in the morning with demonstrated indifference; wouldn't be surprised if House called him a pervert for secretly fantasizing about his hands at the DDX, staring at the line of his jaw and visualizing his own hands entangled in his constantly disheveled hair as he scribbles down symptoms. He wonders what the stubble on his face would feel like on his bare skin.

He wonders if House is playing this game because he has an agenda, or if it's simply to annoy him.

It's another late night at the clinic when he realizes that House is watching him from the adjoining office. He's ready to go home, and he really thinks that he should, but there is something in the other man's eyes that he can't quite grasp.

For a startling moment, Chase accepts the fact that House is, and probably always will be, the man who can see through him, and it's not an overall unpleasant thought.

"You're leaving", House says as he slips through the door, making it sound like a statement.

"I intended to."

"And now you don't. What changed?"

He shrugs. "Not much. Guess I'm still lonely and miserable like anybody else."

A twisted smile creeps into the corner of his mouth. "You're not miserable. You're all but that."

"Do we have to talk about it?"

"No."

He swings his chair to face him straight. His eyes are scanning him from head to toe and back to his face again, and Chase feels a strange sensation of anxiety.

He's never done this before. It's a case of do or die, and he's not exactly comfortable with this, but he knows he won't win his wicked game if he doesn't get ahead of him.

With trembling hands, he starts to loosen his tie.

"Keep it", House demands, not stirring a muscle, but watching him intensively. "Drop your pants."

He breathes in and out again, holding his gaze as he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans. It's insane how confident he suddenly feels. His cock is already pressing against the tightness of his shorts, leaking with pre-cum. He can feel it penetrating the fabric as his jeans drop down on his ankles.

They face each other, and he can feel House's eyes all over his body, senses the smell that emanates from his clothes, bitter and masculine.

The sudden intimacy doesn't frighten him as much as he thought it would; in fact, he feels calmer than ever in his presence.

"You're a naughty boy", House says, and it sounds almost affectionately. Chase suppresses a moan as his hand finds his hardness. He tightens his hands into fists, and his jaw clenches. He closes his eyes and exhales, trying hard not to lose it. He's reaching for the desk behind him, supporting his weight as House starts to rub him gently.

"You're also quite impressive."

"It's not what I want."

"What do you want?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

He goes a little steadier on him, touching him through the fabric of his underwear.

Chase fervently wishes he dropped those damned shorts, too.

"Am I turning you on?"

"Yes… yes, House." He doesn't know what else to say. Maybe it is the gleaming in his eyes; maybe it is that pleased, voracious look on his face that he's never seen on him before. His hips involuntarily move, and his hand glides down his body until he fumbles at the hem of his shorts.

"Strip."

Chase opens his eyes again. "What?"

"Take off your clothes."

His fingers tremble as he unbuttons his shirt, and before he has a chance to take it off completely, House's hands slip under his T-Shirt. Astoundingly gently, fingertips study the upper part of his torso, making him shiver in sheer delight. As he does, House gets up and stands right in front of him, closing the gap between them, and they're so close now that Chase has a notion to faint.

"Touch yourself", House demands.

Somewhere in his dazed mind, he thinks that this is the kinkiest thing someone has ever asked him to do, but he's shockingly okay with that. His cock is achingly hard, and he stifles a groan as House's lips teasingly graze his cheek before he grinds his groin against his. Likewise, he can feel the other man's erection through the fabric of his jeans.

Fuck, this is good. His hand, trapped between their bodies, starts to move more vigorously. He needs to come, needs it so badly that he can't even value the kiss that House draws him into; it's aggressive, yet tender in its own way, and his lips feel warm to the touch.

Chase throws his head back as House's mouth ghosts hungrily all over his face, tongue flickering and lips and teeth nibbling on the sensitive spot right above his jugular notch.

His grip tightens when the older man's arm reaches around him, relentlessly digging his fingers into the firm flesh of his ass until a snorting laugh – half exalted, half terrified - escapes his throat.

"This", murmurs House, pulling him tighter, "is just about perfect."

"Mmm." He can't believe how much he's turned on by this.

His body is tensing up, and he can feel the oncoming wave of his orgasm while he's stuck between House's tall frame and the edge of the desk.

He won't allow himself to scream, so he bites his lip like he did in the boy's dorm at the seminary.

There is a moment of both relief and shock when he reaches climax under House's hand, and he buries his face in the other man's shoulder, holding tight for just about a second until House draws back.

Panting heavily, he leans on the desk, his face flushed, unable to open his eyes. He can feel the warmth of his ejaculation in his shorts.

"Get dressed", House says.

He's still reeling from his orgasm, and when he opens his eyes, he can see him reaching for his cane and his jacket.

"You're leaving?"

"Get dressed", House repeats in a harsh tone of voice, "and get out of my office."

Chase blinks. "That's it?"

"I won't fuck you in my office. Come back tomorrow, and stop annoying me with your pathetic attempts to quit."

Dumbstruck, Chase pulls up his pants.

His mind is completely blank as House shoulders his bag, swiftly passing him and heading for the door. Chase can smell the scent of sex on him (his sex), and there is something so devastating about it that he can feel the burning sting of tears welling up.

_Damn. Damn, damn. Damn you, you bloody bastard. _

But most of all, he wants to bite himself.

Before he leaves, House turns around and squints. "You're still living on campus?"

Chase struggles to his feet, desperately trying to keep his composure. "I'm moving next month."

"Good. We should do this anytime soon again. You were fun."

With that, he's out of the room.

* * *

"You really are growing on him."

House responds with an indecipherable hum, his eyes being fixed on the young Australian who sits in the outer office, going through some files while chewing on a sharpie and pouring down coffee. It's late, and Wilson has the notion that he only consumes the caffeine to stay awake.

"Cuddy wants you to hire a team. She didn't ask you to crush an aspiring doctor under your self-absorbing brutality." Wilson throws a glance at the still oblivious Chase. "How long has it been? Two, three weeks? He looks like he hasn't slept in days."

Maybe he hasn't. House snickers at the thought of how Chase's nights might have been after their recent encounter. It doesn't take much imagination to think what goes on in his head when he catches him gazing in the distance, his mind anywhere but on the patient. Sometimes he even blushes and avoids his gaze when he tries to lock eyes with him, challenging him and mocking him in a most unambiguous manner. The possibilities are endlessly amusing.

House knows the effect he has on people, and he's not afraid to use it.

"House. Are you listening to me?"

"Not when you're jabbing on Cuddy's behalf. It's nothing personal, Jimmy. Just a matter of principle."

"Again. You're not acting on principles."

"Think of it as my personal principle to not act on principle."

Wilson sighs. "This can't end well."

But it certainly started off nicely.

* * *

It's almost nine when Chase prepares to leave. He doesn't expect to be 'fun' anymore, doesn't expect House to really mean what he says, and yet he feels a twitch of excitement as House pokes his head through the glass door.

"I'm going home," Chase announces, hoping that this will stop House from throwing another patient's CT-scan at him. "Coffee's fresh if you like some."

"Come with me", House says cryptically and passes him without even pausing, vanishing into the dark of the hallway.

Chase follows him meekly to the elevator, not quite sure what this is about.

"Where are we going?"

House throws him a scrutinizing glance. "Clinic."

Chase doesn't ask any further. The clinic is locked over night, and there is absolutely no reason to be there past 8 p.m. The illumination of the corridors is dimmed down, as well as the examine room that House nudges him into. He doesn't turn on the lights, and Chase feels a strange tingling inside his stomach. He manages to remain a calm, cool poise, but only just.

"Right. What's the plan?"

"To boldly go where no man has gone before." He nods towards the examine table. "Drop your pants."

"And then what? You're going to watch again?"

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

Chase chews on that for a few seconds. As a matter of fact, he did. It was actually rather exciting: the thrill of being caught, the intimacy, the closeness and the scent of the taller man pinning his body against the desk, and the voracious kisses that were shared between them.

He doesn't think he has felt that hot and horny before.

So, yeah. He liked it. It still doesn't mean he has to succumb to House's whims.

"I'm not going to give you a free performance."

"Funny, because I was just thinking how cute you'd look dancing on my lap."

"Is that what you're paying your hookers for?"

House smirks. "Somebody has been spying on me."

"You're not too discrete about it." If House can make him miserable by prying into his personal life, so can he. "I saw her entering the clinic last night when I left. She didn't exactly look like a patient."

"And you politely showed her the way to my office."

"Wasn't necessary. She knew her way around."

House's grin broadens. "You followed her."

"Enjoyed her act?"

"Probably not as much as I'm going to enjoy this." He reaches for the pneumatic stool with the help of his cane (he's actually fairly handy with that cane). "Let's find out if your show is better than hers."

"I'm not gonna strip for you", Chase warns.

"No. You have something else I'm interested in." He flourishes his hand. "That is, if you're not charging for sexual harassment."

As if. In fact, he can feel the tell-tale signs of arousal already. Slowly, he unbuckles his belt. "You said you wouldn't do it at work."

"I said I wouldn't fuck you in my office. I probably even won't fuck you at the clinic, but who knows? Let's see how far we can get you."

This is weird. Chase thinks he likes weird. He unzips his jeans and lets them drop down to his ankles before he leans against the cool, leather surface of the table. In a way, he's glad that House allows him to keep on his shirt. He can't say he's overly turned on by this, but the subdued intimidation is somewhat stimulating in itself.

House gazes at him for a minute, secretly admiring the muscular, healthy, well-rounded thighs of the young Australian. As delicate as he looks, there is something definite masculine about him. There is nothing that makes him appear girlish or even feminine. Except, maybe, the hair and his lips, soft and yielding to the touch. He likes the smell and taste of both.

There is a hint of fuzz on his face, dark and possibly bred to conceal his boyish features; probably a faint attempt to look more mature, but House thinks it makes him look even younger.

Damn, he's handsome. He's gorgeous.

He's, in fact, prettier than most of the hookers he's had.

House moves the stool closer to the examine table, causing Chase to flinch. There is tension, but House prefers it that way. He doesn't want him to get too comfortable around him.

With a swift motion, House pulls a drawer and presents a bottle of lube; the no-fun, medical stuff.

Chase sneers. It's not quite clear if he is bewildered or slightly amused. There is, however, the distinctive onset of both anticipation and cautiousness on his face as he bites his bottom lip.

"Turn around", House says.

"Why did it never occurred to me you might be into clinic sex?" Chase snorts, but there is a touch of self-consciousness in his thick, strange-sounding accent.

"You want to discuss my kinks? That's pretty daring. We're not even through foreplay."

Chase moves uncomfortably. There is something in his demeanor that tells House he's not quite as familiar with this as he wants him to make believe.

_Sweet_, he thinks, _a butt virgin_. It can't get any better than that if he turns out to be right.

He generously lubricates the index finger of his right hand before he wraps his left hand around Chase's slightly jutted hip.

Chase exhales deeply, trying desperately to keep still.

"Just… just go easy", he says huskily, eyes cast down, telling him everything he needs to know. "It's been a while."

"Thought so."

He gently rocks the pad of his finger against the pink puckered opening before he flicks down, marveling at the mere sensation of the tight and smooth muscle clamping down around his finger. Chase quivers a bit, but stays perfectly still. His breath becomes shallow as he leans forward. "Fuck, House…"

"Not yet."

"Sheesh. Hold it. I can't-… Give me a minute."

The soft, rhythmical noise of the lubricant between his cheeks is an incredible turn-on. He never thought he could remotely get off by breaching a hole. He's so tight that it feels like he's trying to suck him in further, and House doesn't object. Gently but firmly, he works his way up, searching for that sweet bundle of nerves that will or will not drive him into a frenzy. He's determined to find out, even if it takes a little patience.

"Your dad called."

"Wha-… what?"

"Asked Cuddy how you're coping."

"Uh. Tell him I'm fine."

"You are." House pushes his finger a little deeper. "Everything's perfect down here."

"He never called… _ah_… never bothered to call before."

"Don't try to touch yourself while I'm up there. Not unless I tell you to."

He consents, or that's what it sounds like as he mumbles unintelligibly. He's panting now, barely able to adjust to the unfamiliar pressure, but trying hard nonetheless. House withdraws and slightly slaps his firm, adorably curved ass. "Come on. It can't be so bad. Millions of patients can do better than you do."

"It's not like I'm waiting for you to get it over with."

"That's a boy." His finger slides almost effortlessly back inside him, causing Chase to yelp and jerking his hips.

"_Fuck_!"

"Anytime you want it." His cock hardens as he slowly moves his finger in and out. The rhythm is mesmerizing. "Why didn't he call you?"

"He-… _umph_. Can we talk about this later?"

"He called Cuddy. Not you. Didn't you leave a number?"

"For Chrisakes, House, please… Not now."

"Not too fond of the old man, are we?"

A sudden jolt tells him that he's reached the right spot. It's firm and perfectly sized. House thinks he's worth exploring beyond medical reason, especially because he's rock-hard by now. The smell of sex lingers and merges with the pungent air of clinical sanitation. Wantonly, he pushes him harder.

Chase grips tightly onto the table and stifles a moan, his hips thrashing involuntarily against the edge. "Right there… God, yes. 's good."

House places his thumb against the spot right between his tailbone and his entrance, rubbing him decisively. Chase rewards his efforts with a delicious whimper. His body jerks uncontrollably before he arches his back, uttering some gibberish that is outrageously sexy. Both of his hands are still clutching the edge of the examine table, and he squirms in sheer bliss, leaving him struggling for balance.

Relentlessly, House pounces on him faster, with each stroke making sure he's stimulating the overly responsive bundle of nerves inside of him.

There is something utterly sensual about the way he moves; maybe he can even make him cry and sob like a baby if he can keep this going for a little bit longer. He tries to ignore his own full-blown erection, achingly pressing against the fabric of his jeans. He wonders if Chase can make him jack off without having to touch himself, and it seems not totally improbable, but he doesn't have the nerve to hold on any longer. Neither has Chase. He's zoned out, caught up in the waves of his impending orgasm, and even for his standards, it seems cruel to ride on him much longer. Inner muscles clench and contract violently, leaving him no other choice but to keep still and savor the sensation.

"Come", House whispers hoarsely, aroused by the spectacular reaction of the younger man's strong body and the fragrance that goes with it; the back of his shirt is plastered to his skin, and his usually perfectly combed hair is disheveled and falls in dark strands into his face.

He can't quite say if Chase restrains himself until he gives permission to let go, but the thought is definitely stimulating. He comes undone with a suppressed cry and slumps across the table like a ragged doll. Still wheezing, his body shivers and trembles under a series of yanking spasm until he completely unravels, dead for the world.

House inhales the perfume that emanates from Chase. It's pure sex, and he's surprised how much he welcomes it. It's musky and familiar, spicy and raw not unlike his own. He opens his zipper, seeking relief from the almost unbearable excitement. He comes hard and almost instantly, and he's squirting onto Chase's still trembling, bare, milk-cream thighs before collapsing over his limp body.

"Fuck", declares Chase, moving sluggishly underneath him, "that was good."

"Why didn't your dad call at my office?"

Chase groans and buries his face.

* * *

"He looks worn-out."

"Maybe there's a reason to it."

"Like, I don't know, working late?"

"Could be."

Wilson straightens his shoulders and puts on the infamous _I told you a thousand times but you never listen_-look. "Did you tell him that his father called?"

"He thinks Rowan's being superfluous."

"He's his father."

"And yet, daddy called Cuddy. What's she to him then?"

"Maybe Chase doesn't want him to call."

"Maybe."

"You know anything about it?"

House watches as Chase gets up to pour himself some coffee. There is no trace of remorse or even embarrassment. He seems comfortable at where he is, right now, and House likes to think that it is of his own merit.

"You want me to ask?"

Wilson sighs. "Don't push it. He may not be too happy about it."

He is, House thinks. In a way, he is.


End file.
